


Professoriate

by akire_yta



Series: prompt ficlets [504]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 14:32:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12683814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: drdone askedI had a thought: The brotp if IR wasn't a thing.





	Professoriate

The pile of grading is teetering precariously at the edge of his desk.  John’s pen is spinning between his fingers, the gentle  _click-click_  as it rolls a counterpoint to the ticking of the old fashioned grandfather clock out in the hall.

The rhythm is broken by a triple-time knock on the doorframe.  “Is the doctor in?” Penny asks, beaming at his nonplussed face as she lifted a brown paper sack high.  “I bring croissants and coffee.”

“Well, in that case, you may enter,” John lets the pen drop with a last  _click-clack_  as Penny comes in, pulling the door shut before claiming the comfy visitors seat.

“How goes it?” she asks, nodding at the still-teetering pile as she hands over a steaming cup.

“It…goes,” John let himself enjoy the aroma for a moment, willing the scent alone to help wake him back up.  “Why did I let you talk me into taking a Chair at Cambridge?”

Penny lays a perfect croissant, crisp and golden, on a paper napkin next to his keyboard.  “So I could keep you close and not have to cross an ocean to share afternoon tea with you,” she says like rearranging his life to her needs was a perfectly civilized thing to do.  That he’s here isn’t the strongest argument against her position, he’s well aware.

He heads for steadier ground.  “Yes, well, afternoon tea is lovely, but that doesn’t change the fact that being a Chair means taking on students, and students come with grading.”  He pokes morosely at the pile, setting it even more precariously against the edge.  “ _Hand-written_  exams.  What is this, the dark ages?”

“It’s Cambridge, darling, so close enough. Which is why-” Penny beams as she whips out a pen of her own.  “I am here to help. Come on, hand over the gimme questions, let’s go.”

John laughs, but he pushes the answer sheet he’d cribbed for himself across the table and sips his coffee as she picks up the first script and starts to read.


End file.
